As Ash Comes Raining Down

If one final piece of me

shall be immortalized,

let it be these words.

As ash comes raining down,

the screams of terror and agony

piercing the dark sky like bullets,

I look around at the home I'd made,

the life I had lived.

My pens and paper are strewn

carelessly throughout the workshop.

A plate of olives sits at my desk,

where I had only minutes ago-

God, had it only been minutes?-

been sitting, writing my newest work.

Ironically, it was about

the ultimate destruction of mankind.

None of this matters, though.

Not the tools, or the fruit.

All that matters

is the world outside.

My friends, family,

all being buried by the ash.

I look out my window,

and watch the dark death

fall from the torn skies.

Off in the distance,

Vesuvius roars like a beast,

waiting to claim more victims.

I look up as something hits the roof,

which instantly begins to burn.

Within minutes, the whole house

is steadily burning.

I look up, and a scream

catches in my throat.

Just outside the window,

bodies.

Not dead, but buried,

covered and immortalized

in the piling ash.

Their cold, hollow,

lifeless eyes beg

for a second chance at life.

Their mouths are opened,

frozen in screams of anguish.

Looking at those bodies,

I take a deep breath.

The ash piles higher and higher,

blanketing the city,

and I know that soon,

it shall take me under.

So, paper in hand,

I step out

into the burial grounds

of Pompeii.